


Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

by a_nonny_moose



Category: Darkine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Thank you.





	Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

For Christine. 

The first thing she noticed was the darkness swirling around her, more like smoke than the absence of light. Miasma, a recollection clicked. This was her world. 

The second thing she noticed was a figure sat at a table, hunched over the wood like a man over his fifth lonely drink. A figure, a stance she recognized. 

She walked closer, and found that she was in her own body. Tattoos in the right places, familiar dark folds of cloth. Her steps were muffled, as if they didn't dare to break the stillness. 

The figure at the table turned, ears perked at the slightest sound. She'd trained him well. 

"My god..."

"Very close," she heard herself say, lips curling into a smirk. 

Dark stood in the presence of a queen, eyes fixed hungrily on her face. "...it can't be."

"It's been a long time, Darky boy." Christine stepped closer to find herself eye to eye with her old entity. She looked him up and down, pensive. 

He hadn't aged a day, of course. Still looked like Mark, still had that stupid faux-hawk. A battle-worn shadow hung around his eyes, but the scars, the story of his-- their-- past, written across his face, had faded. 

He was untouched, here. 

Dark looked Christine over in disbelief, cataloging as quickly as he always had. A new tattoo, but the same lazy, cheeky grin spread across her face. She held herself differently, now. Less like a chained dog, snapping at heels, choking herself on her own collar. Less "come and get me." 

More regard for whether she lived or died. 

She was waiting for him to speak, an almost imperceptible sadness in her eyes, in the way she crossed her arms in front of her. Dark knew her. 

Had known, anyway. 

"I've missed you," he managed, somehow making the sentiment sound like a throwaway. 

A real smile, and Dark found himself struggling to remember the last time he'd seen one as genuine on her face. 

"I've missed you too." Dark's emotion hadn't escaped her-- she felt it as acutely as he did, felt him trying to hide it. 

Too many things unsaid. 

"You've gained weight." Dark almost regretted the words as they tumbled out, trying to force conversation. 

Christine laughed, ringing through the room. Somehow, they'd sat down on opposite sides of the table, a second chair appearing out of nowhere-- like an interview. Dark couldn't tell who was questioning who. 

"Micha-- er, I had a kid."

"Melania?" His heart jumped. 

"Thomas."

Dark saw the way her eyes lit up with sentiment. He forced the tender memory of her eyes on him out of his mind. 

"That's... good." His words fell flat, despite the desperate snark he tried to throw behind them. 

Christine fell silent, eyes on him, fiddling with a ring on her finger. A new one-- Dark didn't want to think about what it meant just now. 

Her cheeks were fuller, eyes brighter. Dark could see the lines of her face, so often burdened with worry, fading: replaced with the telltale mark of laughter. 

She was happy. 

For a moment, Dark tried to summon up the jealousy he'd kept in the pit of his stomach for so long, sometimes the only thing that kept him from fading away. For a moment, he wanted to curse Christine for leaving him a shadow of an entity. 

He tried to hate her for living without him, and found that he couldn't. 

She was happy. 

Dark found himself in love once again with the way her eyes flashed-- but when she laughed, not when she landed a killing blow. The way she grinned, smile full of warmth instead of fangs. 

She was talking again, and Dark snapped himself out of his reverie to listen to her voice, painfully familiar.

"You're not angry with me?" Christine was leaning across at him, searching his face. 

"I'm not." It was as if saying it had made it true, and there was an odd lightness in his head. 

Christine frowned, a little unconvinced. She'd last left Dark angry, fading, demanding a chance. Not a second chance, because that had been gone on day two-- but another chance. 

He'd changed. Christine saw it in the way his eyes flicked over hers. Not with fiery possession, but a kind of passive recognition. 

She almost snorted to herself. Dark, passive. As if. 

"What's so funny?" A drawling, smirking question. 

"Nothing, nothing." A smile touched her lips, and they sat scrutinizing the other-- the room still writhing in darkness. 

Christine spoke again, voice gentle. "It's funny, seeing you again."

"You couldn't have gotten rid of me if you tried." It was a sentiment too much like the old days, but Dark didn't say it with any malice.

"I know." Her voice was sad. 

The unspoken _I tried_ hung in the air.

Here she was, a woman with a family. Here he was, a black-and-white reminder of the girl she'd been. 

"Thanks," Dark muttered, eyes fixed on a point two inches to her left. 

"Who, me?" Christine shifted to meet Dark's eyes. "For what?"

"This." Dark raised a hand, closed his fist. His bulging arm told the story of a life of training, fighting. 

Christine laughed a little. It was sentimental, this. Her own creation, thanking her for having been created. "Shut up." 

"Hmmph. Hardass."

"Softass."

Amicable silence. 

The darkness in the room was beginning to fade, and her body felt less real. Christine could almost feel the sheets of her own bed, almost hear Michael snoring softly in her ear. 

"I'm gonna have to go soon."

"Yeah." Dark met her eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze. He knew what would happen next, if the lightness in his head was any indication. This had been a deathbed visit. "Thanks for... y'know."

He was suddenly awkward, and Christine knew why. She stood, stepping around the table, and pulled Dark up into a hug. For all his training, for all that he'd been solidly there for her, he was suddenly frail in her arms. 

"I'm happy for you," Dark whispered, voice low enough that Christine could pretend not to hear it, muffled against her shoulder. How she managed to wrap him against her, short as she was, he'd never understand. 

Christine stepped back, an uncertain smile flitting across her face. "I'll, um, I'll see you around, right?" 

Dark grasped at the gentle fiction. "Yeah, duh." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll be waiting to see you."

"I look forward to it."

His face was obscured by the sunlight filtering through the blinds now, voice lost in Michael's early-morning groaning. 

"Thank you too, Dark." The words slipped out before she could stop them. 

"Who, me?" he mocked gently. Her voice was growing distant, her features obscured by a kind of mist. "For what?"

He couldn't see Christine's face anymore, only her outline. Gray smoke swirled between them. Even as she spoke, Dark could hear a ringing in his ears, feel his body grow lighter. 

"This." Her voice echoed around his head. 

Through the mist, he watched Christine's figure spread its wings. A taller, shadowed form walked up next to her, holding something very small, very gently. Christine wrapped her wings around the three of them. 

A family. 

Dark blinked at them, finding not envy, but pride welling in his chest. A sense of loss. 

She was happy, and his world went white.


End file.
